


Not Even A Day?

by IfMulderCouldSeeMeNow



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, On the Run, Stranded, car, post the truth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 11:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3444638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IfMulderCouldSeeMeNow/pseuds/IfMulderCouldSeeMeNow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She hears the popping of the tire on the deserted highway first, noticing Mulder’s foot pump the break-careful not to slam it. She can hear the floppy noise the tire is making and knows they have no new tire; no options other than this car. This is the car. He glances at her quickly once he’s gained full control and she knows he’s going to drive as far as he can with three tires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Even A Day?

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is another story I published on my blog and didn't bring here. It's like I'm finding my own Easter Eggs! Thanks for reading and enjoy!

She hears the popping of the tire on the deserted highway first, noticing Mulder’s foot pump the break-careful not to slam it. She can hear the floppy noise the tire is making and knows they have no new tire; no options other than this car. This is  _the_ car. He glances at her quickly once he’s gained full control and she knows he’s going to drive as far as he can with three tires. 

She drops her head when miles later she hears the pop of another tire and the grinding scritch-scratches of the raw metal on the road, long overdue for construction. 

"We’ll have to walk," he mumbles, turning off the ignition and unfastening his seatbelt, knowing that she’s just as unhappy about the situation as he is. 40 miles until the nearest town, the sign proclaims in loud letters, taunting her with advertisements for a hotel they couldn’t afford and food-  _food._

In the past two months she’s regretted every sandwich she’s turned down for the sake of modesty or her ‘feminine’ frame. She would kill for food. In the past two days they’ve survived off of two granola bars and plenty of bottled water. 

Bee pollen and tofutti ice cream be damned. 

He slings a pack over his back, filled to the rim with all he can manage and pulls on his hat, finally sliding his hand across his face, where the mountain-man beard has grown. She grabs her own bag from the back seat, shoving water and the last of the granola bars into it. When she turns her body front again she catches her reflection in the mirror. Long, bright blonde hair, darkly tanned skin and piercing blue eyes that once held passion and wonder.

She’s not sure what they hold now.

* * *

 

"Scully," he begins as the sun sets over the horizon and the road sign alerts them of 15 more miles to the nearest rest stop. They haven’t talked this whole time and he- now he wants to communicate. "Why did you come with me?"

"Mulder," she whispers, his name soft and sweet on her tongue like ice cream. She misses using his name in public, Using his name outside of dimly lit rooms and cars in desperate whispers uttered in fits of passion and deep despair. "We’ve been over this," she finishes with a sign, knowing it’s never good to dwell in the past. This was their life. "I wanted to be with you." She chose this life. "I chose this," she emphasizes, continuing their face-paced walk. They should reach town in about 2 hours if the blisters on her feet had anything to say about it. They’ve had this conversation on multiple occasions and she’s not sure how many times she could assure him that she loved him. That this was what she  _wanted._ She didn’t regret this life. Not a day.

Except for one. 

He’s silent and she can tell he’s thinking. Waiting to drop a bomb. It’s dark but she can still see the tightness in his face. He’s contemplating whether or not he should say something he knows he will regret. She doesn’t have the courage to ask him , knowing it’s about her- about the day she regrets with her entire being. About the person she refuses to talk to, refuses to weep about in front of him. About the nights she spent running fingers through his thick, coarse hair as he mourns the son he never really knew.

She’s not sure if he’s the lucky one- to never have known. Memories are a curse and blessing, if the bone-deep ache in her bones when she thinks of a blue bonnet or wispy hair has anything to say about it. They walk in silence for miles, as he turns thoughts and ideas over in his head. When the slanted sign of the small town comes into view, she regains the courage she thought she lost nearly a month ago when he told her she shouldn’t have given away their son. When he braced himself, closing his eyes in anticipation of a slap only to open them when the bathroom door of their shoddy motel closed. Her courage was gone. Everything was gone. She only had her bare bones left and even they were shaking in her clothes as she turned on all the faucets and slid to the floor, expecting sobs but finding none. 

She hadn’t cried since she’d told him of their joint loss while he was in prison. Her tear ducts were snatched along with her partner’s freedom, her identity and adoption papers. They didn’t talk about him since then. Tonight seemed to be the lucky night.

She felt words tumble out of her chest and up her throat, ”Say it.” 

Her courage wasn’t lost after all. But when you have nothing else to lose, could she really still call it courage? 

"What?"

"You know." 

He sighs deeply and she knows it’s going to be bad. They’re still 5 miles from town, as the sign with the fishnet-clad leg moving up and down in bright colors alerts them. ‘5 miles ahead. Come to Barney’s. Leave happy,’ it says, the cartoon face smiling- her finger pressed to a dimpled cheek. 

They should both go there. She was ready to debunk false advertisements.

She needed a drink. They’d been walking nearly 10 hours with only their thoughts to keep them warm. Her medical degree, as a once upon a time Medical Doctor,  told her that liquor constricts blood vessels. It didn’t make you warm. But she can imagine the stiff drink burning her throat, and she wants it. She wants to feel again. He clears his throat and finally releases the predominate thought on his mind that’s kept him from looking at her directly for nearly a week. 

Maybe the tires were a miracle. Better find out now that he wanted to ditch her instead of waiting more months. After years of accusing Mulder of being a ditcher, a deserter, and she’d given her son,  _their son_ , strangers. Like he was a casserole dish for the new neighbors.  _Deserter._  The voices in her head shouted. How _dare you call yourself a mother. You took everything from him and you still want him to call you ‘partner?’ To whisper your name and tell you he loves you? Idiot._ She’s so indulged in her own self-loathing that she nearly misses his words.

"What?" she questions. He didn’t say what her ears heard. It was a trick. He stops on the side of their dirt path, surrounded by dry, dehydrated plants reaching up to the heavens, praying for water. Her mouth is dry. This time his words are not a soft whisper, and he looks her in the eyes, despite the darkness of the deserted street. The street light, high above their heads illuminates his face, his eyes which stare earnestly into hers as he delivers the words again, sure and steady with conviction she hasn’t heard in months. 

"I don’t blame you, Scully."

Her mouth is dry and she wants to dry up like one of the many plants on the road. Lay there and wait for life to soak into her roots and course through her veins. But she is not a plant and Mulder is not mother nature with an all-curing watering can.

Except she feels the water. Feels the blood pumping in her veins and the tears threatening to spill over.

Unlike last time, he doesn’t anticipate the hand that moves across his face fluidly, the loud slapping noise reverberating in his ears and in the emptiness of the desert . 

She’s become Apollo, possessing winged shoes as she speeds away from the bearded man rubbing his face, dumbfounded. “Scully” he questions, running after the woman that somehow has used her little blistered feet and tiny sunburned legs to reach the next hill. “Scully, please,” he says, placing his heavy hand on her shoulder. 

"You-you can’t say that."

"But I mean i-"

"No," she spins on her heels, her eyes lighting with fire. He can see the tear tracks forming on her face as salty globs slide down her cheeks. "You’re supposed to hate me. I can’t be forgiven." His brows knot tightly and he realizes the reason she hasn’t cried for their son. How dare he think for even a second that she didn’t care.

"You can miss him, Scully." He wraps his arms around his partner’s now shaking shoulder and moves his fingers through her hair- the blonde now growing on him. He loves this woman. This terribly broken woman that is still his. And he is hers. Her knees wobble and give out underneath her as she sobs loudly into his chest, deep, guttural moans crying for what she couldn’t have. For what they would never have again. He lowers them both onto the rough ground, pulling her closer and closer. Her hands are wrapped tightly around the t-shirt he’s sporting, the fabric wrinkled in her touch. Once she’s finally begun to calm down and his own tears have soaked into her hair, he whispers.

"We have to walk." It sounds hopeful, almost, and he helps her hand, her body still shaky. She’s gotten so thin in these past two months and he remembers back to when they actually had food. When he’d ordered take out and brought her moo-shu pork that she refused initially but snuck off his plate later in the night. Burgers that weren’t on her diet and cakes that he’d brought into her hospital room during her cancer, praying that food would make her smile. He missed his old life. He missed it. But he had her. And he couldn’t let her go. This was their life, and he would bring happiness into it. She looked like skin and bones, and he felt her frailty as he wound his arm around her waist, her pelvic bone sharp under the hem of her jeans. She needed to take better care of herself. They needed to take better care of each other. He hears her briefly sniffle and feels a blister pop in his shoe. Gross.

They’re soon walking at a steady pace again, and the town is coming into view. It’s nearly midnight but the lights of  ’Ted’s’ diner blink incessantly. ‘Open all night.’ He turns to her, knowing that they will have to steal a car in the dead of night. That they can’t rest their aching feet or sore backs, or souls, or that matter.

"Now, I know how you hate diner food Scully, but unless you’re willing to put on fishnets, I don’t see how Barney’s  would be any better," he smirks, wanting a laugh, a smile. Something. She squeezes his hand, and sniffles. They could risk it here. Small town. No cameras. If only for tonight.

"But Barney’s promises that I’ll leave happy," she returns in a banter he hasn’t heard since she threatened him with being in love with Skinner.

"hmm," he nods, pulling her hand to his lips. They look just like any couple, he realizes. They are a couple. "Well, I’m going to bet that Ted’s diner has meatloaf, and we both know how you feel about meatloaf."

"It’s a delicious, unappreciated delicacy," she returns with a quick nod and he pushes open the door and demands three plates of meatloaf, crumpled bills in his pocket. She feels warm under his touch.Tonight they will live like before, be like before. He will remind her what before was like because soon, he’ll have her back there. He’ll be Mulder and she’ll be Scully and everything will be fine again. 

She throws her head back and laughs a laugh that could only belong to Scully,  _his Scully._ He sits there staring at the woman with crystal pools for eyes and blonde box-dyed hair falling over her shoulders as she scarfs down meatloaf, shoving pieces of food toward him. “Eat, Mulder,” she whispers his name, careful that no one will hear in case _they_ are watching. “This is delicious.” He begins his own piece of meatloaf and chuckles when he hears her mumble to herself “God, how many calories are in this?” There she is. 

"Probably a billion," he deadpans "But we can work it off," he winks.

"You’re not getting me in fishnets, if that’s what you’re implying."

He didn’t regret a day

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :) If you have a request, feel free to ask here or on my tumblr:shadequeenscully


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